


All Those Dirty(?) Thoughts Of Me

by tjstar



Category: All Time Low, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, maybe underage but not really, mind-reading, some kissing at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sorry, I kind of raped your brain,” Patrick apologizes. Pete just chuckles nervously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Those Dirty(?) Thoughts Of Me

Moving into a new house always has some difficulties; neighbors, for example. Pete Wentz doesn’t want to live in the same area with young families with little kids or with old grumblers who will definitely judge him for his music taste. Pete’s standing in the front yard, surrounded by boxes with his clothes, tableware and other things; for some reason he just hopes he will live door-to-door with a hot girl or maybe with a strongman who will help him to drag all these boxes into the hallway.

Pete’s trying to find something positive in this situation, but subconsciously he knows: it would be better if he’d stayed with his parents and went to college, but no — he wants to pretend he likes this ‘independent’ life, and now he should find a good job, it will be pretty hard, and...

“Hey!” someone’s voice interrupts Pete’s mental self-flagellation, and he focuses on the boy, standing on the opposite side of a dirty-white fence. He’s not a hot girl or a strongman, and he doesn’t look like a person who enjoys carrying boxes. And he’s very young.

“Hi,” Pete replies, making his way to stranger’s side; the teen’s obviously ready to explode with impatience.

“I’m Patrick, and I live in the opposite house, and my mom was curious about our new neighbor, but you don’t look like a maniac or serial killer, so welcome,” he blurts out and pauses, catching his breath. He speaks too fast, and his diction is slightly slurred, but it sounds charmingly.

Pete reminds to himself that he likes _girls,_ and he _doesn’t feel_   a pleasant warmth when Patrick smiles friendly; and /of course/ he’s not going to flirt with this kid, even if he’s so sweet. He’s dressed in black t-shirt, blue jeans, and ‘I love bingo’ baseball cap covers his reddish-blond hair; Pete smirks when he notices cheap wristbands on his hand — one hangs near his elbow, and it looks somewhat cute.

“I’m Pete, nice to meet you… How old are you? Thirteen?” he asks gently, because his brain refuses to work.

“Fifteen, actually,” the teen frowns. “Oh, and thank you for calling me cute.” Patrick winks, blushing slightly.

Pete freezes confusedly, he didn’t say anything like that.

“What are you talking about?” he scratches the back of his head.

“I can read your thoughts,” Patrick jokes. “Well okay, I have to do my homework, bye!”

The-cutest-neighbor-ever waves his hand, and then turns away and runs to a two-story house; for his own good, Pete tries not to think that Patrick’s hips look adorable in his worn jeans.

 

*** 

After hauling the boxes into the hallway, Pete decides to walk down the street; it’s pretty dark, and no — he is not a spy or stalker, but he goes straight to Patrick’s house, slightly afraid of a possible meeting with his mom. But hey, if he’s standing near their house it doesn’t mean he has dirty thoughts about this lovely teen.

Pete sighs and listens to the noises which sound like someone’s humming under their breath; Pete can’t hear it well, he’s not so close, but he’s sure it’s Patrick’s young voice. He plays a guitar and sings something; actually, it’s not even singing, and Patrick just tries to find the right chords to play, murmuring the song’s lyrics. _Lyrics._ Pete’s ear catches some lines, and his heart nearly stops.

_‘I’m the kind of kid that can’t let anything go_

_But you wouldn’t know a good thing if it came up and slit your throat.’_

Pete admits it sounds great, but he also admits it’s kind of creepy thing, because these words and lines exist only in his mind as a sketch for the future song. And now this kid makes the music for Pete’s cry from the heart, and he realizes Patrick is such a talented boy, but where the hell did he get these lyrics? Can he really read minds or what? Pete’s sure Patrick couldn’t steal his notebook and find the lyrics, it’s impossible.

_‘Wooaah’_

Incredible. It’s not from Pete’s notebook, but it’s the part of the song now, and Patrick _moans_ during his singing. Too fucking awesome. Pete feels like he begins to fall in love with an underage guy, and he tries to banish these thoughts and hurries to his /new/ house.

But now he really wants to talk to Patrick about… music.

 

***

Patrick has nice sense of humor, but when he said he can read minds he wasn’t joking. It’s not even a superpower, and Patrick tries his best to be a normal fifteen-year-old, but he really can hear people’s thoughts. It started about five years ago without any reason, and his mom was worried at first because of Patrick’s constant headaches, but medical examinations did not reveal if there was something wrong with his brain; the doctor said he’s a healthy boy. Healthy boy who can read minds. Patrick and his mom keep this secret successfully.

Patrick doesn’t suffer from _constant_ headaches anymore, and he has to be happy about it, but sometimes he still can’t control his telepathic skills (he doesn’t know how to call it), and yes — when this happens, it makes his head hurt. Usually, Patrick can block other people’s minds, but he can’t hold it back for too long, and he lets some mental noises leak into his mind, into his brain. So, he used to live with a buzz of unfamiliar thoughts mixed with his own without paying attention on it. Patrick just hopes it’s not schizophrenia.

Of course, he can’t keep these imaginary gates closed all the time; he fails at blocking people when he’s tired, or upset, or excited. Today Patrick is not in his best shape because of the lack of sleep, and he’s kind of excited about the new neighbor. Patrick _likes_ Pete’s thoughts (even though they’re depressive), and he tries to calm himself. He’s on school’s sports ground, he’s running, and he’s surprisingly good at keeping steady rhythm.

“Faster, faster! Good job guys! Faster!” PE teacher Mr. Merrick claps and blows a whistle; he thinks _‘they’re too slow what the hell’_  , and Patrick doesn’t want to hear all this shit right now.

He presses his palm to his chest, speeding up; he’s not in the leading rows, but at least he’s much faster than Spenser and Ryan. Patrick can swear he already _feels_ their voices, and there are few seconds before the start of a Big Disaster inside his head; he always hates when it catches him at school. Thanks God it doesn’t happen too often.

 _‘No, please, no,’_ Patrick begs, but he can’t deal with his own ‘gift’, and the thoughts of twenty classmates ( _sex, food, music, failed tests, sex again, even ‘what’s wrong with Patrick’_ he just tries not to focus hard) flood his mind. He falls down on his knees (the grass is not so soft, and Patrick regrets he’s wearing stupid shorts — there are scratches on his knees now), clutching his head in attempts to get rid of pain. It never helps. _‘Please stop thinking, you’re killing me.’_

“Stump, are you okay?” Mr. Merrick asks worriedly, but Patrick knows the coach thinks _‘He must be pretending.’_  

“I’m not p-pretending,” Patrick exhales weakly in response. “My head hurts…”

He wants to lock their thoughts away from his mind, it fucks his brain, and he’s still on his knees in the middle of a sports ground. The pain flashes with every thought, and Patrick can’t breathe. His vision almost becomes white and black, he wants to go home, he wants to sleep, and he DOESN’T WANT to have this choir of real and mental voices in his head. It’s always different voices, familiar and unknown, and they grow louder, and louder, and louder…

“Hey,” coach Merrick shakes his shoulder, and Patrick feels claustrophobic, pressed between other students; he can’t even recognize their faces, he can’t think…

“I’m not pretending…” Patrick repeats and lets out a painful sob, looking at the grass.

“I believe you,” teacher soothes him, sitting down next to him and rubbing his back. “Can you make it to the locker-room? Okay, go and don’t worry, Patrick.”

Patrick nods and gets up from the ground, embarrassed and confused. He can barely move his feet, going to the school building; someone takes pity on him _(‘Jesus, he’s soooo weak’_ ), possibly — Joe or Brendon, but Patrick returns his ability to lock his mind, and his brain feels numb.

He still can’t recover after that mental torture when he goes down the school hallway; he decides to grab his backpack, change his sweaty sports clothes and go home, but when Patrick reaches the door to the locker-room, he realizes there’s /maybe/ something wrong.

He hears voices — real voices — but there’s the ringing in Patrick’s ears, and he can’t understand what they’re talking about, so he shrugs and pushes the door open.

When Patrick sees the scene behind the door, he realizes he’s already dead.

Alex, the lead singer of the school choir, sits on Jack’s lap, and Jack is the best baseball player, and Alex kisses him in front of Patrick, and it means he has big problems. They’re seniors, but Patrick is just a sophomore, and he _can’t_ fight against them.

“Oh my God, I’m s-sorry,” Patrick stutters and closes his eyes immediately, thinking he should just run away and hide, but it’s too late.

Even without his telepathic powers Patrick can say what they have planned to do here; Patrick heard some rumors about Jack and Alex, but he has never seen anything suspicious. Until today.

“What the fuck? You’re supposed to be on the field now,” Jack looks at him angrily, and Alex tugs his t-shirt down, his cheeks turn pink, and he recoils from Jack’s hug; they’re breathing heavily, both sweaty and flushed.

“I felt bad,” Patrick explains, trying not to listen to their thoughts _(‘he can tell someone, and your career will be ruined, make him shut up’_ and stupid _‘oh yeah baby’_ ). He winces and takes his jeans and school bag from the bench.

“Bad? Now you feel better, little curious bitch?” Alex stands up, his thoughts sound like an echo in Patrick’s head — he regrets about their interrupted make-out session, and it’s all Patrick’s fault.

“I swear, I’m not going to tell anyone,” Patrick can’t control his powers when he’s scared, and his heart’s beating somewhere in his throat; he shoves jeans into his bag and runs out of the door.

Changing his clothes in men’s bathroom, Patrick thinks melancholically he should write a testament.

 

*** 

The sun shines brighter than usual when Pete notices Patrick, walking down the pavement to his house. Pete waves at him, and Patrick freezes near the fence like a day ago.

“Are you going from school? I guess it’s too early…” Pete shakes Patrick’s hand, cold despite the warm weather. He feels calluses on teen’s palm, wondering is it because of guitar strings or something else. Pete has similar calluses, actually.

“I’m skipping classes,” Patrick smirks, wrinkling his nose.

Pete notices it’s cute and childish ( _‘you’re five years older, Wentz’_ ), but Patrick looks pale and sick today, and maybe he will not refuse a cup of hot tea with sugar.

But most of all, Pete wants to ask him about those lyrics and about that song, _their song,_ but he doesn’t know where to start. He wants to be polite.

“Sorry for asking, but… Are you feeling well?” Pete expects to receive in response something predictable like ‘leave me alone’ in angry-teen style, but Patrick just sighs sadly.

“Not good. I almost fainted today, and I don’t know how to stop it. Migraines,” Patrick sighs again. _‘And then I caught our school stars during their make-out session.’_

Patrick hasn’t spoken to anyone else except for his mom for too long, and suddenly he wants to share his pain with someone; that’s why he said that to Pete. He can call himself egoistic or broken, and he’s not going to tell Pete all his secrets, but he’s tired of headaches and buzzing in his ears, and he has a right to complain of it. Patrick lives in constant tension, waiting for another mind-attack, and he can read fucking thoughts, and it’s not normal.

“Oh man, I understand you! You’re growing up, it might be high blood pressure…You’ll be fine soon,” Pete reassures, and Patrick gives him a weak smile. _‘Maybe he’s an insomniac too?’_  Wentz thinks worriedly.

“I’m not an insomniac,” Patrick says, and Pete raises his eyebrow amazedly. “And I don’t drink tea with sugar.”

“What?!”

“Just facts about me,” Patrick replies. Then he literally _blows a kiss_ and heads to his house, leaving Pete alone with his thoughts.

Pete gets used to Patrick’s personality.

 

***

Silence. Finally.

Patrick sleeps when he hears knocking at his room’s door. He feels woozy and groggy, and he can’t force himself to lift his head up off the pillow.

“Come in,” Patrick mumbles; he already knows it’s his mom came home from work, and now she’s doing her usual ritual called ‘Pretend that your son is an absolutely normal boy’.

She’s a nice woman, actually, but in Patrick’s opinion she cares about him too much. Patricia _always_ thinks about him, and she even tries to keep her mind blank when she talks to Patrick, because his brain is _always_ overloaded.

Mrs. Stump sits down on the edge of her son’s bed; he lies on his stomach (Patrick’s mom calls it ‘laziness’. Patrick calls it ‘planking’), in that clothes he usually wears at school, and it’s clear — he’s not happy about having a conversation.

Patrick snorts irritably when his mom starts stroking his hair, but then he takes a deep breath and just relaxes.

“Why didn’t you call me?” she asks, and Patrick has no answer. His mood and behavior change dramatically after his ‘telepathic fails’, but he feels guilty about disturbing his mom.

Patrick admits, he’s a pretty troubled teenager.

“I didn’t want to,” he responds. “Yes, it happened again, but not as bad as before. Just a headache and… Voices,” Patrick’s face buries into a pillow, and he’s sure the words are indistinct.

Patricia sighs.

 _‘Maybe, I should check him out again?_ _Take him to the hospital?’_

“Mom, please stop thinking so loud,” Patrick grumbles; he wants to slide into a deep sleep more than anything. He has to go to shower, and maybe then he will feel better, or he should eat something, but he doesn’t want to move.

 _‘Oh sorry,’_ leaks into Patrick’s mind. Patrick groans.

Actually, Patrick wants to talk to their new neighbor, because Pete’s strong, and he doesn’t think about bad or dirty things; it’s like Patrick can see his soul through his thoughts. Also, he feels some bond between them.

“Good night, Patrick,” Mrs. Stump gets up from her son’s bed. _‘I hope he will tell me if he will get worse.’_

Patrick groans again.

“Goodnight, mom.”

 

*** 

At the morning Patrick realizes he’s alive again, but he doesn’t want to go to school after the incident at PE. And he’s sure Jack and Alex are going to kill him; why didn’t they choose another place? They can fuck anywhere, really, Patrick doesn’t mind, but he prefers to stay away from it.

But not everything in this life goes the way he wants; Patrick tries to eat his chips from vending machine, and Patrick’s importunate classmate tries to draw his attention.

“Patrick, are you listening?” Joe snaps his fingers in front of Patrick’s nose.

“No,” he confesses honestly, opening the pack.

Joe rolls his eyes and repeats what he just said.

“Biology Project, dude. We have to finish it up till _tomorrow,_ ” he speaks slowly like his partner has an autistic disorder.

Patrick just laughs. Joe is a good guy, he usually thinks about guitars, video games and some kid — Andy — but Patrick doesn’t know him.

“Let’s finish it at the evening,” Patrick offers. Grabbing a handful of chips, Joe nods and finally leaves him alone.

 

*** 

It’s a suicide attempt. Walking home alone at night after saying to his mom that he stays overnight at Joe’s house is the worst idea in Patrick’s life. He’s an easy target, and he has a stupid plan; Patrick doesn’t care if it looks like he’s gonna surrender to his enemies — he just wants to end it all.

Patrick is not the one who likes to talk, he’s good at keeping secrets, but he can’t make them believe in it.

If Jack and Alex want to fight, he’s ready. Patrick’s intuition guesses it all will be over _tonight_ , he just has to wait. He crosses his arms over his chest, rubbing his shoulders in attempts to keep some warmth; he’s cold, tired and hungry (eighteen pages about Darwin's theory for Biology conference — Patrick feels like an amoeba now).

There are no people on the street, and Patrick thinks he’s having a hallucination.

Patrick sighs when he begins to hear familiar noises in his head; it’s just a whisper, and he can control it, but some voices are a little different, and he can recognize the sound of an approaching car.

The teen turns around and jumps at the side as the vehicle slows down next to him. Patrick was waiting for it, but it all goes not as he had expected; ‘ _we will make you pay for your curiosity’_  , and an arm wraps around his neck, dragging him away.

“No, I’m not…” Patrick coughs; he wants to say ‘I’m not curious’, but it doesn’t make any sense, because the grip becomes tighter. He’s about to give up, really.

“Alex, don’t choke him,” Jack — of course — warns. “Let’s _talk_ to him,” he grits his teeth. His breath smells like alcohol.

 _‘Car trunk, road, wood, oh my God no, no NO!’_ their thoughts are mixing with Patrick’s; he doesn’t want to be shoved into a car trunk, but he has no choice.

It happens too fast, and maybe Patrick would not survive this night.

The worst thing is: he’s terrified, and he can’t concentrate on Jack and Alex’s mental voices. He’s kidnapped, this fucking car moves in an unknown direction, and technically Patrick is a telepath, and he can order them to let him go, but he doesn’t know how.

Patrick doesn’t know how long their trip takes; he lies on his side in the fetal position, trying to occupy as little space as possible. Car trunk isn’t big, and Patrick curled into a small ball, but he feels every bump in the road; pain hits his ribs and back when the vehicle starts shaking.

And then it stops.

Patrick gasps when someone opens the trunk, and fresh night air suddenly fills up his lungs; someone — Jack — snatches the collar of his t-shirt and pulls him out of his prison. Patrick struggles and wriggles, and he tries to guess what’s in his kidnapper’s mind, but all what he can hear is beating of his own heart.

_‘…pretty mouth…’_

Patrick wants to scream, but he just lets out a painful moan when Jack pushes him against the tree; the roughness of a tree bark scratches Patrick’s chin.

“What do you know about us?” Jack asks. Patrick’s breathing gets faster when Jack pins his arms behind his back and presses him harder. _‘I know every-fucking-thing.’_

“N-nothing,” Patrick responds. This is what they want to hear, he’s sure.

Patrick’s chest tight, his heart races, and his stomach hurts from fear. He _feels_ Alex clenches his fist, and Patrick closes his eyes, bracing himself for a blow. Maybe they will leave him alone after that? _‘Hit him, beat him up, show him you’re the boss,’_ this is what Alex thinks inside Patrick’s head; Jack thinks he’s bored.

 _‘Fuck off, go away, don’t hurt me, no, no, NO!!’_ Patrick yells back mentally.

It takes only a few seconds; Patrick doesn’t feel Jack’s hands against his own, because the kidnapper doesn’t touch him anymore. Patrick turns face to face with Alex, who makes a step away, looking scared.

“It’s enough. Let’s go,” Alex says hoarsely. Jack nods, and Patrick just leans his back against the tree, catching his breath.

Jack and Alex promptly disappear from his view, Patrick can’t see them from behind the trees, and he wants to shout, because they can’t let him stay like this, but yeah — they can.

Patrick can’t get up off the ground when he hears the sound of the engine; he rests his head on his knees, shaking from cold. Then he tries to call someone, but his cellphone is broken or it’s out of battery — the screen is black and dead.

He’s alone now. In the wood.  Patrick doesn’t even know his location, because this stupid telepathy can’t work like it should work.

The owl hooting somewhere nearby, and it doesn’t sound optimistically.

When Patrick convinces himself that he can move again, he runs. He gasps, he falls and gets up again, and he runs to the road, dreaming about his spiritual connection with Pete. He can’t explain it, he just repeats wordlessly _‘Help me please help me you KNOW where I am please help me please FUCKING FEEL ME!!!!’_

His overloaded brain burns, and it’s the first time when Patrick tries to yell at someone on the distance; he’d never done that before, because he was afraid of fainting.

Patrick can’t resist the urge to scream, but also he can’t breathe, and he falls again, the ground is cold; it’s not just the ground, it’s asphalt. It means Patrick’s on the road, and he has a chance to escape this horrible place.

_‘Please, Pete, I know you can.’_

Patrick’s right side hurts from running, and his head spinning, but he keeps sending mental messages to Pete, his soulmate. Patrick stands up again, it’s a voluntary torture. _‘I’m dying,’_ Patrick realizes helplessly before his body hits the ground, and everything turns sickeningly black.

 

*** 

Sharp pain shoots Pete’s right side when he tries to sleep, watching TV. _‘What the fuck? Is that an appendicitis or what?!’_ he jumps up on the armchair.

Pete didn’t want to sleep, his insomnia catches him again, but there are other symptoms: he breathes like he’d been running a marathon, and there’s the tension in his muscles.

And Pete hears a weak voice.

_‘FUCKING FEEL ME!!!’_

Patrick. Angry. Alone. He’s probably injured, and he’s _somewhere,_ and Pete _can_ feel him. It’s weird, Pete has no time to wait, also he feels like he has a compass in his head, so he runs out of his house and gets into a car.

Pete’s still in his ripped t-shirt and pajama pants, and the TV is still working, and the lights are on. It’s like a trance; he’s driving in nowhere, hoping it’s not too late.

He doesn’t even know this city, his parents bought him a house here, and it’s not even Pete’s car, it’s his father’s car _(‘prove us that you are an independent person’_ Pete’s parents said. Sarcasm. Yes, he is)… He should help Patrick; he tunes to a mental channel, and _he knows_ that strange teen got into a big trouble. Pete has no clue where he is driving, but he’s close, sure — it just can’t end up bad.

_‘I’m dying.’_

The last desperate thought. Nothing. Patrick’s mind isn’t there anymore, and Pete just drives through the wood, he’s on an unknown road, the headlights snatch only the fragments of the surroundings, but he sees someone is lying by the roadside.

Pete makes the most ridiculous parking in history and gets out of the car in a rush; he heads to person’s side, and…

Patrick. He’s pale and cold, and he doesn’t respond to Pete’s touch. But he’s breathing.

“Oh my God,” Pete whispers as he checks Patrick’s pulse. “Patrick, I’m here, please…”

Patrick moans and opens his eyes, and the truth hits Pete at the most inopportune moment: he’s alive, he’s hurt, and he seriously has some telepathic skills. Pete’s going to take him to the hospital now; Patrick shakes his head, and Pete just tries not to think about it.

Patrick doesn’t refuse when Pete carries him into the car; he’s safe now, and his telepathy is not as useless as he used to think.

“I don’t want to hospital,” Patrick grumbles when Pete starts the engine.

“Man, you were lying in the middle of nowhere unconscious,” Pete replies as if this situation is normal. “Of course, we’re on our way to the hospital.”

Radio plays shitty pop-song. Pete doesn’t remember when he turned the radio on.

“Sorry, I kind of raped your brain,” Patrick apologizes. Pete just chuckles nervously.

The teen yawns and rubs his eyes; he relaxes on the car seat, intending to sleep, and Pete just watches him.

“Do you want something?” Pete asks. Patrick wants to take a hot bath and wash the dried blood from his chin; he’s agreed drink tea with sugar, but most of all, he just wants to pass out.

“Please call my mom,” Patrick mutters sleepily.

“What? I don’t know her number…” Pete responds anxiously.

“Oh, you know.”

 

*** 

Dr. Weekes frowns. Pete convinces him that Patrick isn’t a victim of child abuse, and he’s not suicidal, so  _shut up and just check him out, and stop asking me these stupid questions._ It works, and the doctor takes Patrick to his office; he looks like a homeless boy because of dirty clothes and small amount of blood on his face.

Night shifts are always the hardest.

Sitting on a chair in the waiting room, Pete pulls his cellphone out of his pocket and dials some random number from his mind. He shivers when he hears a woman’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Patricia? Oh, fine. Just don’t worry, Patrick’s in the hospital…”

It will be a long night.

 

***

When Patricia arrives, Pete’s pretty sure she’s going to kill him, but she just hugs him instead.

“I want to talk to doctor, where’s he?” she asks, looking around the hallway.

At the same time, Dr. Weekes goes out of the hospital ward, Patricia starts to bombard him with questions immediately, and Pete wants to disappear.

“Is he okay?” she bites her lips in Patrick’s manner, making Pete shudder.

“Calm down, he’s fine, he’s sleeping now, and you can take him home tomorrow morning. Bruises, scratches but no broken bones. He’s okay,” the tall man talks to Patrick’s mom, and she listens to his words carefully.

Doctor just steps aside when Pete and Patricia break into Patrick’s hospital ward.

 

***

The bed is too uncomfortable, the blanket is too thin, and Patrick wakes up with a strong feeling like someone’s staring at him. Also, his hand stings slightly from the injection.

“Oh,” Patrick rolls onto his back; he’s grateful he can’t read minds or hear voices and mental noises right now. He’s too drugged to think, he’s numb.

Pete smiles at him, and his mom gives him a concerned look, tears forming in her eyes, but she quickly wipes them.

“The doctor said I can take you home,” Patricia squeezes his hand. “You just have to talk to him.”

“Welcome back,” Pete sits on the chair beside Patrick’s bed, and he covers himself with a blanket, regretting he took his jeans off before going to sleep.

Patrick’s surprised, but his mind is completely blocked. He thought he’s got a hole in his ‘protective wall’ after that telepathic session with Pete, but it seems like it’s all good.

Patrick clears his throat.

“I’m sorry for being a terrible son,” he turns to Patricia and coughs again, pressing palm to his mouth. His head feels empty and light, but he’s sure his mom thinks he caught a cold.

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Stump laughs softly, but in this moment Dr. Weekes enters the room, interrupting their heartwarming dialogue.

“Well, how’s our patient?” he asks as he opens the door.

“Hangover,” Patrick doesn’t actually know what hangover feels like, but he guesses it’s close to his state. “You sedated me…”

“I had to. You were stressed,” the doctor explains. “What happened?”

All of them — Pete, Patrick’s mom, the doctor and even Patrick want to know what actually happened. Patrick sits up on the bed, battling with dizziness.

“Just a stupid prank,” Patrick shrugs. “Teenagers are violent, you know,” he adds sarcastically.

“Are you violent too?” Dr. Weekes kills him with this question, honestly.

“No. That’s why I’m here,” Patrick responds. Maybe, it’s just some psychological test.

He’s amazed by the silence in his head; no other thoughts, only his own. Pete winks him like he keeps a secret. Not only Patrick’s secret.

 

***

An hour later, riding home in his mother’s car, Patrick can’t break the silence. He really wants to say something, he wants to explain it all, but he just can’t. He decides to pretend sleeping, because it’s a proven way.

Patrick wants to be in Pete’s car now, to talk to him about what he knows — he knows a lot. For example, Jack and Alex are going to move away and get married, and all that kidnapping-thing did not make any sense from the beginning. Also, Patrick guesses that now he can kick them out of his life; he becomes a professional at playing mind-games.

That lovely duo just wanted to intimidate him, like he’s a little homophobic bitch. And now his kidnappers are scared of their own crime. Patrick is sure, they will apologize, but he doesn’t care.

It’s over.

 

***

Patrick hates tea with sugar. He prefers chocolate or other candies, but not this sweet tea. Hot liquid burns his throat and stomach, and the cup seems bottomless. But Patrick plays his role of a polite guest, sitting in Pete’s kitchen.

“I’m done,” Patrick places an empty mug on the table. “So, how can you do that?”

He hopes Pete realizes _his_ thing — he somewhat can block other people’s thoughts for Patrick; at first, Patrick thought it was just another fail in his system, but no, it’s all right. At the hospital, Patrick didn’t hear anyone’s voices in his head, and it wasn’t only the effect of a medicines. Patrick understands he can send Pete something from his own mind, it’s hard, but now Patrick feels fresh and alive, connecting to his friend.

“How can _you_ do that? And how do you relax?” Pete looks at him, and Patrick avoids his eyes. Of course, he knows a good way to relax, but it’s too private to talk about it to Pete.

Patrick just shrugs, and Pete keeps embarrassing him.

“Imagine, you can order your girlfriend what to do,” he teases.

Actually, Patrick doesn’t think someone will be excited of seeing him naked. He tried to kiss a girl like twice in his life, but his first crush was interested in girls as much as Patrick, and the second time (when he was really close) some strange thought leaked into his mind:  _‘your beanie’s ugly, you’re not John Cusack.’_

No, he’s just Patrick Stump. And Pete thinks his beanies and baseball caps are cool.

“I just wrote the music,” Patrick stretches lazily, sitting on the small couch next to Pete and scolding himself for his drowsiness. “For your lyrics. I hope it’s not so bad,” he smiles guiltily.

“It was the greatest thing I’ve ever heard,” Pete confesses.

_‘Trick, I wanna hug you and kiss you all the time… oh fuck, sorry, you can hear… fuck, STOP THINKING!’_

Patrick laughs, because it’s really funny; he likes Pete, and Pete likes him back, and his efforts to block his mind right now are pitiful.

“Jesus, Pete, can you just do it? And don’t call me ‘Tr…” Patrick doesn’t have a time to finish because of Pete’s _real_ kiss. And hugs. And everything.

Patrick isn’t sure if he’s doing it right (it’s his first experience, forgive him); he’d like to use his mind-reading skills again, but he’s too excited to remember how his telepathy works. It doesn’t matter; Pete is his soulmate — without any doubts — and their bond becomes stronger and stronger. Also Patrick discovers he kisses emotionally, and _he’s noisy,_ but he just knows Pete loves it.

“Hey?” Pete smirks, playing with an elastic wristband on Patrick’s hand.

“Wow,” Patrick pants; he comforts himself on the couch and rests his head on Pete’s lap.

“Do you know what I’m thinking about?” Pete touches Patrick’s reddish hair gently (he really likes this beanie — hey, the kid has a style!). “You can write music for every thing in my notebook. Wanna read my new lyrics?”

“Oh no,” Patrick replies with a little grin. “I already know them.”

**Author's Note:**

> i just like to write about teenagers and kisses, i'm sorry  
> \----  
> my style is strange because i don't speak english; you can tell me about my mistakes ^^


End file.
